


Because

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sad Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wants to leave the bunker. Because he always gets everything wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because

Because he always gets it wrong.

Because he's forever making the wrong choices; even though it's them, really, who taught him what it was to make choices in the first place. Surely you can't always make the right choices; isn't that sort of the point of free will?

Because he's lost, and not in a sense of direction. More lost in himself. He never asked to feel like this, to want something so much - to want for anything at all. His life has been about service, it has  _ been  _ servitude: now that he knows, now that he has experienced that there is so much more to it all than just that, he is unable to un-know it.

Because.

Because he's standing too close, doesn't get their references, can't make his speech come out quite like theirs, no matter how long he spends in their company.

Because he wants to be even closer than he stands, to know and understand every word out of their mouths, and to taste the actual words coming out of Dean's.

Because he wants Dean, all of Dean, so very, very much.

That is why.

That is why he has to go away, at least for a little while. At least until these urges that surge through every synapse of this human body and every fibre of his very being settle and calm to something that is somewhat less overwhelming.

Being; now that, that is a very strange concept right there. For he is millennia old, knows all there is to know of this universe, yet these two humans make him feel as though he is so very small, and infantlike.

He knows they don't mean to do it; well, perhaps not always. He might be new to how family means something altogether different to what he's always known, but he knows Sam and Dean consider him as one of their own. Even when he messes up; possibly even more then.

He even enjoys the affectionate way they tease him about what he doesn't know sometimes, it seems very much like what he expects  _ home  _ must feel like.

But still. Every now and then, he sees the roll of their eyes that says he's got it wrong, yet again, and he feels _,_ so very much. Humbled, at fault, like a failure. All of these emotions that have become somehow as much part of him as this human body that is now all his.

He's getting distracted, this is not the train of thought he started out with, and is certainly not helping with his decision-making process.

He needs to leave, get some things clear for himself, maybe learn a little more about this new version of himself, and he's so reluctant to be away from them - Dean in particular, obviously - that he is trying to reason himself both into leaving and out of it.

But go, he thinks, he must.

***

“How do you think Dean's gonna take it? You just upping and leaving unannounced, huh?”

Sam's words do one of two things to Cas. Firstly, they crack open that lid he'd slammed down hard on his wishful thinking of the possibility that Dean might actually feel if not the same, then at least something for him back. It also makes Cas wonder if Sam would actually not care either way if he was gone, and that odd sensation of self-doubt that he's found himself feeling possibly more than any other feeling flares up, in what he supposes Dean would call his gut.

Sam though, is ever-observant. He rolls his eyes, smiles, and lays a hand on his shoulder, letting it linger there in reassurance.

“I don't want you leaving myself. I just... I meant... Dean...”

Dean. Sam's word buffers around in Cas' mind as he tries to decipher its meaning. Dean will be upset, Dean will be mad, Dean will be all kinds of unimpressed with him if he leaves, and especially if he leaves without saying anything.

That Cas is even contemplating leaving without telling Dean, speaks volumes even  _ he  _ doesn't want to sound out loud, in terms of what is the mess that are his feelings for Dean.

Maybe he anticipates Dean will try and stop him leaving.

Perhaps he fears Dean might willingly shove him away.

This constant state of confusion is like being confined in a beehive. Loud, busy, with no place for himself, and sweetness just out of his reach, not ever to be his for the taking.

Cas smiles to himself at his analogy, knowing how both Sam and Dean would give him  _ that  _ look that is mostly an endeared sort of mocking.

“You believe I should tell Dean that I am leaving,” Cas says, as though he is looking for Sam's guidance.

Sam snorts, shaking his head, letting his hand finally slide away.

“No. I  _ believe  _ you shouldn't be going anywhere in the first place. I  _ believe  _ Dean's gonna be so pissed that we're even having this conversation that he's gonna be glaring at  _ me  _ for days. And I'm not even the one having the stupid idea of leaving.”

“I do not know what else I can do, Sam.” Cas' tone comes out defeated, and he makes no attempt to try to hide it.

Sam's smile grows a little grim, and he nods. “You could try talking to him? And don't give me that crap about 'leaving 'cos you don't have a purpose here', or whatever else you just said. You're running, Cas. I know these kinds of feelings are probably kind of... alien to you. And Dean'd sooner take up yoga than have a real conversation about this, but. It's gotta be done.”

Cas considers telling Sam he's wrong, that this is nothing to do with  _ feelings  _ at all. The look on Sam's face tells him he'd be wasting his breath. Instead he tries, “Dean does not feel-”

“And if you're about to spout some other crap about Dean not being as messed up in the head about you as you obviously are about him...”

Sam doesn't bother finishing his sentence, because there's really nothing else to add. It's out there, in the open, clear as anything – at least to him, anyway.

But Cas can't, won't let himself believe that. He is an angel of the lord, or whatever he is now, and he is not to be concerned with such things as human emotions like want, and need.

Only, he reminds himself, he  _ does  _ feel those things, and he's  _ more  _ than concerned about them. These feelings, they are  _ blinding  _ him, and he cannot see much else, beyond Dean. And if Dean were to reciprocate, well that would be one thing. He would be able to somehow make all the pieces of this puzzle fit, and manage to retain something of himself in there somewhere. He would still  _ be  _ himself.

But he cannot risk that Dean does not feel that way, because those other feelings that come along with want and need, like longing, and pining, and unrequited everything, are crippling. Those are the ones that block his way, wherever he is going.

So go, he must, for all their sakes, but especially for his own.

Cas shakes his head minutely, sighing, and keeping his eyes firmly away from Sam's so that he can't see the guilt written there in his own.

“I will tell him tonight,” he says simply, and leaves before Sam can attempt to say anything further to change his mind.

***

Cas looks around the room that is most definitely  _ his  _ room in the bunker and already feels a little as though he misses it.

He takes in the holdall that he's already packed on his bed, a thumb idly tracing over the stitching that is coming undone around one of the fastenings, and hopes it will hold. His eyes unwillingly fall on the book by the side of the bed that Dean has pushed on him; Dean is insistent that Cas reads Vonnegut, reasoning that because he likes him, Cas is sure to as well.

Dean is right, Cas  _ does  _ like the book, but he cannot take it with him because it would be yet one more reminder of Dean.

He needs to  _ forget  _ Dean. Perhaps not permanently, and perhaps not all of him; just this part of him that's latched around his heart and refuses to release him from its hold.

He can't do that if he takes memories with him.

In the bottom of the closet are all the more personal things that would serve as reminders of Dean. Cas tries not to remember that really, everything in the bag will also have that effect; more than half of his clothes are Dean's, and almost everything in the bag has been chosen by, or with his help.

Cas asks himself yet again what it is he thinks he's going to achieve, and comes up empty.

He's gone human enough times now to know that he will cope, so there's never been a doubt in his mind that this nagging sense of  _ wrongness  _ about his decision has anything to do with fear for himself.

In truth he  _ does  _ fear for himself, but in a very different way. If he allows himself to acknowledge, out loud, all he is fearing, Dean will very likely push him very firmly away.

Or perhaps scarier still, maybe he won't.

Because that is half of the problem here. If he gets what he truly wants, which is of course, Dean, then what happens when he messes things up? He might be able to describe quantum theory with an understanding that would blow the mind of even the brightest of the bright out there, but this constant barrage of _feelings_ and not knowing what to do with them, or how to act on them leave Cas feeling totally out of his depth.

Words like relationship, and _intimacy_ taunt him then, more than all the obscure pop culture references Sam and Dean throw his way that he's slowly come to understand.

This is ridiculous, he tells himself, knowing this internal conflict is pointless, only serving to delay the inevitability of what he needs to do.

He'll make it quick: he'll go to Dean now, tell him he's going away for a while, and leave before he can hear Dean's opinion on it either way.

What Cas doesn't factor in to this equation is Dean himself.

Because Dean has been carefully watching Cas' shifting mood and general discomfort this past few days. Cas has been aware of that attention, and maybe that is what is dancing behind Dean's eyes when he immediately pulls open the door at Cas' knock.

What Cas hasn't considered is the effect of seeing Dean up close; the smile on his face that shows his genuine happiness to see him, the way he immediately steps back and ushers Cas in. The look of pained surprise that wipes that beautiful smile away, leaving his mouth gaping slightly open and a light gasp escaping from somewhere deep in his throat.

"Cas?" He hears, and the word is weighted in questions that Cas is struggling to find the answers to himself.

***

“I don't want you to go.”

Dean stares at the holdall over Cas' shoulder. There is no tremor in his voice, no ambiguity to his words, and no way of mistaking what Dean is saying to him.

But Cas is still shaking his head, still disbelieving, still half-turning away.

“Don't go,” he hears again, and it's accompanied by the feel of Dean's hand gently gripping him mid-forearm as he stumbles round to face him.

They stare at each other barely a foot apart, waiting, hoping, perhaps daring the other to be the first to speak.

And Cas, who always feels so weakened under Dean's gaze of late, both in a beautiful and belittling way, breaks first.

“Why?” he croaks out, the word sounding angular and awkward in the air between them.

“Because.”

Dean's answer doesn't do anything to help Cas understand, so he shakes his head, takes a slight step back.

Dean closes that gap up immediately, slightly tightening that grip on Cas' arm.

“Because this is your home. With us. With me. Because we're your family, Cas, not those... bastards up there who don't give a crap about you. Because we want you – _I_ want you here. And because...” Dean's words come to a stuttering halt, his other hand shakily rising to wrap around Cas' shoulder so that there's barely any gap between them at all now.

“Dean,” Cas prompts, impatience winning out over self-preservation, because even now, even with this honesty that is brutally forcing its way out of Dean, he still doubts that Dean means any of it.

“Because I want you here. I  _ need  _ you here, Cas,” Dean's voice is little more than a loud whisper when he finally does speak, and Cas can feel the heart in his chest – that he still has trouble claiming as his own sometimes – beating, leaping, as though it is ready for escape.

“I need you, Cas,” Dean adds, his eyes pleading with Cas', begging for understanding that doesn't involve even more words.

But Cas needs those words, or at least needs more understanding.

“What do you need me for, Dean?” Cas finds his own voice has become monotone with apprehension; he doesn't want to sound hopeful, he doesn't want Dean to know what his words are doing to him.

Dean nods briefly and a smile flits across his lips for all of a second before he closes his eyes, lets his shoulders drop. He runs his thumb under the strap of Cas' holdall until he's pulling it from him and firmly setting it on the floor at their feet.

“I need you,” he repeats, swallowing with difficulty. “I need you, to be here. To help me figure this thing out. This thing that is you and me, that's been burning away at us and we've both been side-stepping now for so long that... I don't even remember why we're doing it,”

Cas' eyes blow wide as though he has no control over this body of his at all. He's speechless; all he can do is continue to stare back, slightly opened mouthed.

“Cas,” Dean pleads again, and it seems as though he has no control over his own body either, because he's closing that final bit of gap between them and despite the layers, Cas can clearly feel Dean's heart hammering away, right up against his own chest.

Cas swallows, half in fear, half in anticipation, hesitantly raising his hands until they are ghosting against Dean's sides.

“Cas,” Dean repeats, his hands loosening their grip from his arms and finding themselves gently cradling Cas' face. “Don't go. Please, Cas. Stay here. Stay here with me,”

***

Cas feels different.

He is staring up at the ceiling of Dean's bedroom, laid out on his bed, with Dean curled in to his side and playing with Cas' fingers against Cas' chest.

Their lips are swollen, like repeated bee stings, and Cas lifts his free hand up to run his fingers over the tender surface of his own lower lip, smiling a little in disbelief as he does.

When Dean's hands had earlier cupped his face, Cas so desperately wanted to know what to do next, feeling not only out of his depth, but vulnerable, and naïve. But then Dean had kissed him, dipping his head down and pressing their lips together, and any worry that Cas had had about somehow not knowing how to respond faded instantly, accompanied only with a light mocking of himself for feeling that way in the first place.

The kiss had gone on for so long, that Cas had lost track of time, and Dean had apparently lost the ability to stay upright because his knees were literally shaking. Dean had guided Cas gently back to the bed and Dean had leaned over him continuing that long, thorough kiss, which they'd only broken away from a few moments ago because of the intrusion of the need to just  _ breathe  _ .

They need to talk, and Cas isn't looking forward to that very much, because neither he, nor Dean are any good at that. And perhaps that is unfair, he amends to himself then. Because in the past they  _ have  _ talked, and they  _ have  _ had difficult conversations. But they've usually happened as a result of something else going on around them, not just because they needed to be out there, and said.

“Don't leave me, Cas,”

Dean's head raises as he speaks, resting his chin on Cas' chest as he looks up at him both shyly and pleadingly.

Dean is taking Cas' ideas about leaving personally, his eyes showing just how very  _ wounded  _ he is at the thought of Cas being gone. Dean's reaction tells Cas that perhaps he has been wrong about some things. That this horrible, swirling, mess of feelings perhaps really aren't one-sided, or unrequited, or anything he needs to deal with alone.

“Stay,” Dean says again, shifting so that he's leaning over Cas once more and stroking gentle fingers against the hair at his temple. “Stay... stay with  _ me _ , Cas,”

Dean lowers himself down, and Cas tilts his head up to claim yet another kiss, and it somehow feels like this is something they have done a hundred times before.

“Okay, Dean,” Cas finds himself agreeing, because he's always been helpless when it comes to Dean.

  
  
  



End file.
